


Take a Third Option

by indevan



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron Mahariel has lost love once only to find it again in another.  His first love is suddenly returned to him and now he realizes that he's in what seems like a horribly tried and played scenario.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Third Option

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just futzing around with the idea of Tamlen coming back somehow and making things complicated in his surly way--and any excuse to use my headcanon of him as a bara babe.

“I’m going to bed. One of you is joining me, right?” Theron’s words are light but there’s a heaviness in his stare as he looks between the two other elves.

  
Zevran looks at the singular earring pierced in his ear as lamplight winks off of it. It is his gift to him--a lover’s token. It feels so foolish now that this Tamlen is back in his life and as more than a tainted ghoul. He almost wishes that Riordan hadn’t come up with his brilliant plan for more Wardens. Perform the Joining. Theron had jumped at the chance to save him. Zevran sees the look in his lover’s eyes now as his gaze switches from him to Tamlen.

  
“Or not,” he says with a weak chuckle. “Either way, I’m going to sleep.”

  
He moves his silken braid over his shoulder and strides away. Zevran watches the way his hair flicks side to side, swinging just above his perfectly perky, tight backside. He notices Tamlen beside him is watching as well.

He does not know why Tamlen raises his hackles. Perhaps it is not just because he and his Warden had just finally admitted their love for one another. Zevran is not one to normally subscribe to monogamy and if Theron chooses to dally with others, he does not mind. It is that this is Tamlen, the infamous Tamlen. Tamlen who grew up with him in their Clan. A lifetime of history. He does not think it as jealousy. He was never jealous of Alistair or Morrigan when they held his Warden’s heart--if only for a moment. It isn’t even that Tamlen has been antagonistic and rude to everyone who isn’t Theron since he awoke from his Joining--well, perhaps it is a little of that. He thinks, perhaps, that it is the fact that this situation is wearing on his dear Warden when he has the Archdemon to worry about. Of course, it is Tamlen’s fault and not Theron’s own fault for keeping a ghoul in camp and then demanding Riordan cure him.

Zevran turns and regards the other elf. Like Theron, he has the curling blood tattoos that Dalish boast though his is of a different pattern. His involve curves that highlight his cheekbones and end in curls at the corners of his mouth. Tamlen isn’t terribly tall--he and Zevran are perhaps the same height--but he is big. His shoulders and chest are broad and the muscles of his arms bulge even unflexed. His legs are muscled, powerful. Burly is really the only term he can use to describe him. He is perhaps the same size as Alistair if fair bit shorter. His eyes are blue and, as he is still watching Theron’s retreating rear, show unbridled and unhidden lust. His hair is the color and consistency of straw and cut short and Zevran inwardly revels at how nice his own hair is in comparison.  Theron disappears into the guest room the Arl had set up for him and it is then that Tamlen turns to face him.

“So you’re the flat-ear he’s taken up with,” he says gruffly.

  
“I prefer ‘Zevran,’ but yes. That would be me.”

  
He folds his arms over his chest and his biceps look even larger, which he figures was Tamlen’s point behind the gesture.  
“Then you should know that you’re going to have to step aside.”

  
“Excuse me?”

  
He turns a hand palm out and it is eerie how much that gesture is reminiscent of Theron.

  
“Theron is ma sa’lath. And I am his. You were...a momentary distraction.” He smiles wide enough to show Zevran the edges of his teeth.

“That should be for Theron to decide, no?”

“Of course.” His eyes narrow. “Why wouldn’t it be? I am just saying...prepare for the worst.”

Zevran’s jaw clenches despite himself and Tamlen must notice because he smirks. He has to admit that there’s truth to his words. Tamlen and Theron have history--more than as lovers but as friends and blood-brothers. Furthermore, he is a Warden now as well. An image worms into his mind of them fighting Darkspawn together and kissing victoriously after the last one is slain.

_Perhaps I am...a little jealous._

He swallows and takes the measured breaths to calm his temper that were beaten into him during his earliest days of training with the Crows. When he meets Tamlen’s gaze, he keeps his own steely. They glare at each other for a moment, neither wanting to break away first.  
Something shifts in Tamlen’s face and his gaze softens. His mouth turns down at the corners and he looks hopelessly sad. Zevran’s own glare falters and he takes a step back, surprised. He realizes it a beat later. Tamlen has been separated from Theron for months, scared and slowly losing himself to the Darkspawn taint. Though he has a feeling that rude and surly is his natural state towards anyone not Dalish--or perhaps anyone not Theron--he is acting out at Zevran specifically because he is scared and angry and, most of all, hurt.

“Go to him,” Zevran says softly and his hands clench tight as soon as the words leave his mouth. He presses them against his thighs and grits his teeth against the unexpected tears that burn in his eyes. He takes more measured breaths to get them to abate. “For tonight at least. You have...been gone long. He can make his decision in the morning before we leave for Redcliffe.”

Tamlen’s eyes rove over his face as if looking for any ulterior motives but then he presses his hands together and even smiles softly.

“Ma serannas.”

Zevran watches him go to Theron’s room and his step is not much different from the loping half-skip in his own Warden’s gait even with all that bulk. He wonders if that is a trait among the Dalish. He draws in a shaky breath and goes to the room that had been set up for him by the Arl. It is next to Theron’s, perhaps at Alistair’s behest, and it had been convenient for the past few nights but tonight it is torture. Even the stone walls cannot mask the love noises coming from Theron’s room. Zevran is attuned to every sound of pleasure his lover makes and his hands clench under the blankets as he hears them being brought out by Tamlen. He knows that they can have this night. Tomorrow Theron will decide and if he asks Zevran to step aside, he will. It will pain him but he will do it. He will even let him keep the earring if he so wishes.  
He rolls over on his bed and closes his eyes. He pulls a pillow over his head to drown out the noises of love-making from the other room and measures his breaths until he falls asleep.

\--

Theron awakens some time before dawn. He yawns and stretches luxuriously in his bed before, out of habit, curling back into himself.

“You’re awake, emma lath.”

It is strange hearing that voice again. Strange and wonderful and gut-wrenchingly painful. Theron unfurls from his preferred sleeping position and finds himself looking straight into Tamlen’s unwavering blue gaze.

“I am,” he says and yawns massively without bothering to cover his mouth. “I figure if we wake up early enough, there’ll be time enough for breakfast before we have to leave.”

“You’ve always woke up before dawn,” Tamlen teases, a smirk on his face. “But...I haven’t had anything to eat in literally months so...I would not say no to breakfast.”

“You can’t tell.”

Theron runs his hands over the bulge of Tamlen’s bicep. He had reacquainted himself with all of his body last night. Tamlen pulls his thick arms around him and pulls him close.

“And you, emma lath, you have learned some new moves.”

He kisses him on the corner of his mouth and gleefully says, “I know.”

“Some are...kind of scary.”

“I know,” he repeats. “I don’t even really like doing them but they make me feel dangerous...or Orlesian.”

Tamlen laughs and lowers his head to kiss the hollow of his collarbone.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against his skin.

“Me too, Tam, I--”

Early morning sunlight is starting to peek in through his window and glints off of his earring. Theron sees it there in the looking glass, winking gold.

_Zevran..._

He wonders what it says about his own selfishness that he forgets his lover moments after Tamlen comes into his chambers.

“Tamlen...”

He eases him away and turns away. Tamlen reaches out to loop some hair behind his ear.

“What is it?”

“It’s Zevran.”

Naturally, his face contorts in a grimace and Theron sighs again.

“He allowed me to come in here last night,” Tamlen says angrily. “He said you can put off choosing until the morning.”

Choosing...right. He has to choose between his newfound love and his long lost love just returned. It reminds him a bit of the boring lover’s stories that Hahren Paivel told them as fledgelings. He groans and lies on his back, covering his face with both hands.

“Can it wait until after breakfast?”

Tamlen laughs and kisses the dip in his neck where his collarbones meet. “Of course, emma lath.”

\--

Zevran drags his feet going to the Arl’s dining room that morning. He can hear the animalistic moans and growls accompanying the sound of lips smacking and chewing before he even enters the room. He lingers in the doorway, taking in the scene. He felt bad for the cooks before this morning, having to cook for two Wardens. His sympathy only grows upon realizing that they now have to cook for three. No one has noticed him so he slips into an empty chair between Wynne who is sipping tea and Oghren who is guzzling ale.  
He watches Theron messily tear through his breakfast and Tamlen is beside him doing likewise. Alistair is the last of the messy eaters and, had it been a usual morning, Zevran would have commented that these sort of manners were improper for a future king. It is not, however, and he merely accepts the plate handed to him with a murmured “thank you,” to the servant. He has no appetite but he half-heartedly pokes at his meal anyhow.

“Are you alright, Zevran?” Wynne asks.

At the mention of his name, Theron glances up. Gravy is smeared from the tip of his nose down to his chin. He swallows what is in his mouth and then pushes his nearly plate away.

“I’m...not hungry anymore,” he says to no one in particular.

Apparently having not yet noticed the tension at the table, Tamlen reaches over and dumps the remainder of Theron’s breakfast onto his own plate. Wynne flicks her gaze from Tamlen who is shoveling food into his mouth with his fingers, to the morose expression on Theron’s gravy-covered face, and back to Zevran. Her brow furrows and her lips purse and he knows that she somehow knows everything that has transpired.

Leliana, sitting unnoticed at the far end of the table, has apparently noticed it too. She rises to her feet and clears her throat.

“I think I am going to pack my things. Alistair, won’t you help me?”

The warrior looks up and, like Theron, he has gravy smeared over his cheeks and down his neck.

“Huh? You can’t do it yourself? I’m still eating.”

She sighs and walks round the table and seizes him by one beefy arm.

“Come on, Alistair. I need your help.” Her words are pointed and manage to get through his skull.

“Oh...oh. Oh, sure. Yes. I will help you do that.”

Wynne picks up a napkin and leans over to rub Alistair’s face clean as though he is a child.

“I shall come as well. You can help this old woman pack her things.” She looks over at Oghren and adds, “You too.”

“Sod off, woman, I ain’t--”

Her look morphs into a glare and the dwarf swallows whatever the end of that sentence was.

“Right, uh, packing.”

Without wasting anymore time, the others exit and since Morrigan and Sten never join them--and Shale does not eat--it leaves only the three of them seated at the table. Tamlen is still eating, apparently having noticed none of it. Then again, Zevran does allow that he has been sustained by nothing but the taint for months. He’s probably grateful to taste food again. Theron slowly drags the back of his hand over his face to wipe it clean of gravy. Absently, he licks the excess off his hand and Zevran clenches his legs together under the table.

“Tamlen...” He turns to get the other elf’s attention.

Immediately, he lowers the plate and looks around as if in a daze.

“Yes, emma lath?” he asks and then yawns.

“I have made my decision...and I don’t know if either of you will be happy with it.”

Zevran furrows his brow in confusion, wondering as to what Theron means by that. Tamlen is suddenly attentive as well, eyes wide.

“I...on my way to breakfast, I kept thinking about the both of you. And what it would be like to choose between you and how hard that is. And I’m being selfish and I know this--I’m a very selfish person. But I don’t want to be without either of you. I love you both, you see. And I want you both. So what I’m saying is...well, asking really, is if you’d both be willing to share.”

“Share...share you?” Tamlen asks.

Theron turns to him and nods. This is not what Zevran imagined would be the outcome. He stares across the table at Tamlen and then back to his Warden.

“I am willing to share,” he says, “so long as I can keep you.”

“Me too,” Tamlen says quickly. “I have been without you for so long, emma lath, I will do anything to keep you.”

“Really? You both...are alright with it?” He whistles loudly. “Wow. I mean, I know I’m irresistable but I really didn’t think you’d both agree to it.”

Zevran exhales a breath he did not know he was holding and begins to eat his cold breakfast. It is not entirely ideal but he gets to stay with his love and that is enough.

“Hey, where’s the rest of my breakfast?” Theron asks, staring at his empty plate.

“Uh...” Tamlen looks away guiltily.


End file.
